In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
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Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead.
We are the Dead.
Short days ago We lived, felt dawn,
saw sunset glow,
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Loved and were loved,
and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands
we throw The torch;
be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
We Will Not Forget!
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